Jet and the Spork of Doom
by Skylark Starflower
Summary: You'll have to see it to believe it. Clive shouldn't be let within five miles of a kitchen.


Authors note/Disclaimer: I don't own WA 3. Belongs to someone else. ^_^  
  
This story picks up where Clive and the Attack of Ride On and Lawnmower left off, but it's not done in the same style. I seem to have gotten a bit rusty at it. I tried, but it didn't work out this time. But this should still be pretty funny. ^_^  
  
And sorry, Black Waltz 0, but this kinda went in a completely different direction when I started writing it so I never used your suggestion. ^^; But thanks for the inspiration, still! ^_^  
  
"Jet and the Spork of Doom"  
  
Started Oct. 25th, 2003  
  
Finished Oct. 27th, 2003  
  
By Skylark Starflower  
  
Off we go to Filgaia. Home of... let's see, sand...sand...sand...oh, and some more sand. And some rocks for good measure.  
  
We join our heroes somewhere outside the Baskar area. Gallows was hiding under a rock. The other three members of the team stood outside the hiding place.  
  
"You can come out now, Gallows," called Virginia.  
  
"Yeah," snickered Jet, "Lombardia isn't mad at you anymore."  
  
"Oh, good," sighed Gallows. He climbed out and rejoined the team.  
  
Clive pushed his glasses up his nose, again, and observed the falling night. "Shall we camp out here, considering that Baskar needs to rebuild?" He glared at Gallows.  
  
"What!? I never called her fat! I only said she was too big to fit in town!"  
  
The others slapped their foreheads as a roar echoed across the landscape. Gallows screamed and fled as an angry dragon soared by, firing missiles at him.  
  
"He'll never learn," sighed Jet. Clive and Virginia nodded in agreement and sat down. Clive suddenly broke into a wide grin.  
  
"I'll cook tonight. My treat for causing all this trouble."  
  
Jet and Virginia exchanged looks. Clive had never cooked before, Gallows had always done it. But he was unavailable due to dragon trouble.  
  
Jet shrugged. "What could be the harm?"  
  
* * *  
  
Jet stared at the substance in the bowl. It was lumpy. And brown. It could conceivably be called stew. Virginia watched in fascinated horror as the wooden spoon Clive had used to stir it slowly disintegrated in the pot.  
  
"Clive, what IS this?" she asked. Her bowl was already starting to hiss.  
  
"You like it? I used to make it all the time when I was a student." He beamed, but it suddenly turned into a frown. "My friends would never try it. I wonder why?"  
  
"Yeah, I wonder," muttered Jet. The spork he'd been using had sunk into the depths of his bowl. He wasn't about to try to fish it out. He set the bowl down as Clive finished off his first.  
  
"Y-you actually ATE that?" gaped Virginia.  
  
"Yes. Why? Is there something wrong with yours?" Clive asked.  
  
She shook her head. It was at that moment that Gallows came running through camp, still being chased by Lombardia. He tripped on the stew pot and spilled it all over, splashing some on himself.  
  
"ARGH! It burns!" he screeched, and continued to run, steam rising from his clothes.  
  
"Hey!" cried Clive, "You are wasting good food!"  
  
Virginia dropped her bowl. "I'm not hungry."  
  
* * *  
  
It was night. Jet was keeping watch as the others slept. Gallows had come crawling back later that night after Lombardia had gotten tired of chasing him. They'd treated the burns he'd received from Clive's corrosive concoction, then went to bed.  
  
It had been a quiet night. Nothing had happened, and Jet felt nothing would. But he still had a job to do.  
  
Leaning against a tree, he closed his eyes. It would be unforgivable were he to fall asleep on watch...  
  
* * *  
  
The bowl bubbled. A tiny hand reached out and grabbed the edge. It was white ...and shone like plastic?  
  
The spork levered itself out of the bowl and lay in the grass, red eyes burning indignantly. The humans would pay. Oh, they would pay dearly. They thought they were so great. They'd learn! When sporks ruled, they'd ALL pay!  
  
* * *  
  
Jet awoke to a sharp jab in the leg. "Ow," he mumbled, blinking. Whatever had done it did it again. He looked down. "...wha?"  
  
Spork glared up at him. When it spoke, its voice was high pitched and squeaky.  
  
"You're days of oppression are over, human!" Spork declared.  
  
"...go away." With that, Jet gave Spork a flick. It went flying.  
  
"You'll regret that!" Spork's voice faded as it disappeared. Jet merely snorted and went back to keeping watch, feeling slightly ashamed to have been caught napping. He leaned back against a tree. Of course, he thought, it wouldn't hurt if I just rested my eyes for a moment...  
  
* * *  
  
Something was jabbing him again. He looked down. "You again?"  
  
"Damn right!" squeaked Spork. "I'll make you pay for flicking me! ...Hey! Wait! What are you doing!? Put me down!"  
  
Snap!  
  
Jet tossed the broken halves of the spork to the ground as they hissed and bubbled before melting away into nothing. "Well, that was lame," he muttered, then noticed the light spreading in the eastern sky. Time to wake the others and get on their way. Once everyone was up, Jet held a vote.  
  
"All in favor of never letting Clive cook again, say 'aye'."  
  
There was a chorus of 'aye's. Clive crossed his arms and huffed. "Fine. Ingrates."  
  
They packed up and broke camp, careful of the hole Clive's stew had eaten in the ground.  
  
The end. 


End file.
